ened her black Russian satchel, and the purse within it. Therein
were a little compartment full of English gold, another full of French
gold, another full of multicoloured French bank-notes; and loose in the
satchel was a blue book of credit-notes, each for five hundred francs, or
twenty pounds--a thick book! And she would not have minded much if she had
lost the whole satchel--it would be so easy to replace the satchel with
all its contents.

Then a small brougham came very deliberately up the drive. It was the
vehicle in which Miss Ingate went her ways; in accordance with Miss
Ingate's immemorial command, it travelled at a walking pace up all the
hills to save the horse, and at a walking pace down all hills lest the
horse should stumble and Miss Ingate be destroyed. It was now followed by
a luggage-cart on which was a large trunk.

At the same moment Aguilar, the gardener, appeared from somewhere--he who
had been robbed of a legacy of ten pounds, but who by his ruthless and
incontestable integrity had secured the job of caretaker of Flank Hall.

The drivers touched their hats to Audrey and jumped down, and Miss Ingate,
with a blue veil tied like a handkerchief round her bonnet and chin--sign
that she was a traveller--emerged from the brougham, sardonically smiling
at her own and everybody's expense, and too excited to be able to give
greetings. The three men started to move the trunks, and the two women
whispered together in the back-hall.

"Audrey," demanded Miss Ingate, with a start, "what are those rings on your
finger?"

Audrey replied:

"One's a wedding ring and the other's a mourning ring. I bought them
yesterday at Colchester.... Hsh!" She stilled further exclamations from
Miss Ingate until the men were out of the hall.

"Look here! Quick!" she whispered, hastily unlocking a large hat-case that
was left. And Miss Ingate looked and saw a block toque, entirely unsuitable
for a young girl, and a widow's veil.

"I look bewitching in them," said Audrey, relocking the case.

"But, my child, what does it mean?"

"It means that I'm not silly enough to go to Paris as a girl. I've had more
than enough of being a girl. I'm determined to arrive in Paris as a young
widow. It will be much better in every way, and far easier for you. In
fact, you'll have no chaperoning to do at all. I shall be the chaperon. Now
don't say you won't go, because you will."

"You ought to have told me before."

"No, I oughtn't. Noth